


Open and Free

by TrekFaerie



Series: gods among these wretched stars [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Emperor Hux, Eye Trauma, F/M, Family, Gray Jedi, Kid Fic, Multi, Parent-Child Relationship, Teen Romance, Twincest but like casual twincest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2018-06-06 21:22:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6770422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrekFaerie/pseuds/TrekFaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last fragments of the Resistance attack the debut ball of the Emperor's oldest children, managing to kidnap the youngest, a suspiciously dark-haired Force user. They mount an offensive to bring her back.</p><p>She has other plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to my supremely self-indulgent magnum opus. I pretty much wrote Bound and Determined to get to this point. I'm utterly in love and passionate about what I've created here, and I hope y'all find some enjoyment in it as well!
> 
> I like everyone knowing what they're getting into, but depending on how I feel, at least one of those warnings may not end up being used. who knows. I hold fictional lives in my small, stubby hands.

She was meant to be meditating. She knew that her master waited for her, growing increasingly irritated with each passing chime of the chrono. She could easily feel it through the Force-- she suspected he was projecting, trying to guilt her-- and she did feel slightly bad about it.

It was just that she wanted to do literally anything else. And, as a princess, she felt she surely had the right to do exactly that.

There had been a time, back when she was a child, that Beatrice had jumped at the chance to study the intricacies of the Force-- and let it not be said that she was any less interested in the ways of the Sith, for she definitely was. It was just that she was all grown up now, a whole twelve years old, and she was sick of the tedium, of doing the same basic exercises day after day.

Perhaps, if her boycott were successful, Daddy would finally stop treating her like a child and teach her more about what she really wanted to learn! What was the point of having her own lightsaber-- all pretty in violet and thrumming with barely constrained power-- if she still had to spar against droids with a wooden stick?

There was one slight problem, though. If she wasn't going to spend her day training... What would she spend her day doing?

She couldn't return to her quarters, where all her books and toys and games were; surely her nanny droid would be on the lookout for her, ready to drag her by her ear to Daddy or (worse) Father or (much, much worse) Mom. The weather outside was seasonably dreary, so there'd be no playing in the palace gardens or going for an adventure in the wood.

She'd have to rely on her oldest standby: bothering her siblings.

Based on the time, she knew that Godwin would still be off on a riding lesson, but Eupheme would be in their quarters, flitting about and doing whatever it was she did during those few awful periods of the day when she was forced to be apart from her twin. She would welcome the company, surely.

She snuck her way through the halls, shielding herself from passing servants' minds, until she arrived at her siblings' shared quarters. The door was open slightly, and the light tinkling of a harp could be heard; Eupheme was quite interested in her instruments.

"Euphie!" she called out as she stepped inside. "Play with me!"

The person sitting at the harp, long hair tied back in ribbons and lithe, pale body in a plain but elegant gown, looked up and smiled at her.

The servants passing the room certainly wouldn't have noticed anything-- in fact, there was a good chance that any of their parents could have missed the difference, if just casually glancing in to check. But, Beatrice knew right away. She groaned into her hands.

"Godwin!" she said. "Not again! Father is already so cross with you!"

In all their seventeen years, there had been an approximately half-hour period in which Godwin and Eupheme had not looked almost exactly alike. Just a few years back, when they were twelve, their father had decided that their usual punishments for "switching"-- pretending to be the other twin when they wanted to get out of lessons or simply felt like tricking people-- was not severe enough. He'd taken Godwin by his long ginger locks and shorn him in front of the whole court.

He'd been very pleased by his own cleverness, she remembered. At least, until the next day, when Eupheme had shown up to breakfast completely bald.

(They'd grown their hair out again together, as they did all things, and the courtiers tried not to whisper too loudly about how Emperor Brendol Hux, the Killer of Stars, had been bested by his own children.)

"Oh, Father's always cross about something." He'd even gone to the lengths of painting his face, the way Daddy had taught them, which she felt was just fanning the flames unnecessarily. "I'd rather deal with his wrath than show up to my own debut saddle sore."

"So, instead you force it on poor Euphie?"

"She's got enough padding to protect her... Don't you dare tell her I said that, though." He patted the bench next to him, but when she drew close, he pulled her onto his lap instead. "My sweet little Bee! Are you excited for tomorrow?"

She shrugged as well as she could in his grip. "A little bit," she said. "I'm excited to dance outside of a classroom, and see all the pretty clothes... But, I'm nervous about being around so many people. What if I get stressed and start reading people's minds by accident?"

"You won't be stressed. You'll have lots of fun and meet all the lovely Imperial boys Grandmama wants to marry you off to."

"I'll never marry," she said, sniffing delicately. "Sith don't get married."

"If you think I'm letting you out of suffering through your grim duty just because you were lucky enough to be born with magic powers, you've got another thing coming!"

He started to tickle her, making her giggle and throw her limbs about violently. They were so caught up in their games that they didn't see Eupheme enter the room until she was close enough for them to smell the blood.

Her (well, Godwin's, really) riding outfit was stained dark with drying blood, but from the exhilarated grin on her face, none of it was hers. "I killed a simply gorgeous sand panther while out. Wicked creature. Gave me a good fight before I shot it between the eyes." She took off her helmet, letting her long coppery hair fall down past her shoulders. "Mother caught me on the way in, though, so I'm afraid that's your mess to deal with, Goddy."

He groaned loudly, settling Beatrice down onto the ground so he could put his head in his hands. "Well," he said, at length, "I suppose I was due for another 'special lesson.'"

They all cringed. They knew what "special lessons" were. It mainly involved being dropped on an isolated planet with nothing more than a few survival tools and their own wits to get them to safety. Sure, they had Stormtroopers following their progress at all times, but nobody had stepped in to help when a six year old Beatrice had to chew her way out of a giant spider's web. Mom said it built character.

Eupheme settled next to Godwin on the bench, stealing Beatrice to sit upon her own lap. She didn't mind how they liked treating her, how they enjoyed, practically reveled in moving her about like an overlarge doll; she knew that, in only a few short years, she'd be stronger and bigger than the both of them.

Until then, resting her head on her big sister's shoulder, inhaling the scent of foreign blood and sweat... It felt like home.

"Have you decided on your outfit for tomorrow, Bee?" she asked. "I know Father instructed the tailors to deliver your choices to your quarters yesterday evening."

"They were there." She'd never seen so much taffeta in her life. The twins didn't know how lucky they were; since they were the oldest and destined to rule, their wardrobes were stocked with utilitarian but stylish clothes, with the dark reds, gold, and black of their house. Beatrice, on the other hand, was the eternally childish pretty princess, and was expected to dress the part. "I don't want any of them! I'll just wear my formal robes, like Daddy will."

"Daddy can get away with looking like a scruffy nerf herder. When you're old enough to tear a man's heart in half with a mere wave, you'll be able to wear whatever you want," she said. "Until then, you're stuck dressing however Father wants you to dress."

She sulked. Eupheme slowly smiled, a crafty look in her eyes. "If you wear one of the dresses Father picked for you," she said, "I promise that I will personally paint your face up like a Nabooian queen. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Maybe..." she said demurely. "If it's Queen Apailana."

"Deal." She sighed happily and hugged her even closer. "I can hardly believe you'll have your own debut in only a few years time... We're all growing much too quickly for my tastes..."

It was at that time that their nanny droid happened upon them and forcibly removed Beatrice from her siblings' grasps, intending to frog march her to her father and whatever punishment wasting a half-day's training time would earn.

It was easy enough to ditch Nanny; all she had to do was slip into the shadows and disappear, something that came very naturally to her. About halfway to her father's study, she turned on her heel into another hall, rushing away as quietly as she could, silently giggling at her own cleverness.

Usually, it worked. Unless there was already someone else in those shadows.

Strong arms hooked around her and raised her high off her feet, and she found herself being pulled into-- ah, the gym! She recognized the equipment; it was the one her mother had for personal training, not the one for general family use or Sith-specific activities. Which made her wonder why, of all the many places in the palace that Lord Kylo Ren could skulk and wait for his wayward apprentice, he'd chosen one of the few rooms he had no business being in.

She wriggled easily out of his grasp and dropped to the floor. When she turned on him, she kept her face stern; until she knew what mood he was in, she couldn't start joking or kidding around.

He _looked_ like he was in a good enough humor, but it was, admittedly, a bit hard for her to tell. He was a severe man, scary and savage looking even without his usual heavy robes; even in the lighter fabrics he wore for training, he looked like he could easily blot out the sun. His hair being tied back hardly helped; it made everything in his face stand out even more than it usually did, especially the angry scar that bisected it.

She dipped her head forward slightly in a bow, hands folded apologetically in front of her. "I pray your forgiveness, Master," she said softly. "I shouldn't have skipped my lessons. I'll accept any punishment you think right."

For the most part, when it came to his children, Lord Ren was sweet as a lamb. But, at any point in time, even they could get the lion.

She didn't look up until she heard the snort of laughter. She grinned widely, mirroring him. She was always happy to get the lamb.

"I shouldn't laugh," he said, though he hardly stopped. "I just... It's really adorable when you act so serious. It's so cute."

"It's not cute!" she said with a fake huff, stamping her foot. "I'm a very serious Sith warrior!"

"You're not a Sith either, Beatrice Anakin." It was embarrassing, she thought, how he insisted on calling all the children by their first and middle names. It reminded her to be grateful for Mother, though; if not for her, it was very likely that Anakin would have been her _first_ name! "You're just a disciple of the dark side of the Force, with no alignment to any greater movement."

"But, I like being Sith," she said. "They're so interesting, with their traditions and their customs... It's so fascinating! Why can't we be Sith? Give one good reason!"

"Well," he said wryly, "there's the part where Sith apprentices usually end up killing their masters to gain their power."

She looked at him as seriously as she could manage. "I would never kill you, Daddy," she said. "Not for all the power in the world."

She had told him that many, many times throughout the years, and he always made the same odd face afterwards. She had no idea why.

"I promise I'll make up all the training I've missed after the ball," she said. "I want to start _really_ training, though!"

"And what have we been doing up until now?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Boring stuff! You won't even let me spar with my real lightsaber! What was the point of going on that awful adventure if I can't even use it?"

"I just don't want you to hurt yourself with it," he said. "You're too young to hold that much power."

"I've been holding too much power since the day I was born."

"Point. And that's the burden I put on you. You can see why I'm not too eager to increase it." He smiled and placed a large, calloused hand on her head. "You're growing up too fast."

"But, not fast enough!"

He sighed dramatically. "Fine," he said. "If you're a good girl tomorrow and let your father have his big day, we can begin your 'real' training."

"I will act in a manner befitting my pedigree," she said loftily, giving him a small curtsy.

"Maybe a little bet better than that."

She left her father then, with a kiss and a hug goodbye, as always, and decided that, after such a long and stressful day of actively avoiding responsibilities, it was time for her to retire early.

When she saw her mother in her room, she panicked-- until she remembered that Godwin was the Bad Child for today, and that she hadn't done anything too terrible. She was dressed like she'd just come from the barracks, and she most likely had; she'd been spending nearly all her time on security preparations for the ball.

"Is something the matter, Mother?" she asked, going formal in her speech just in case something was the matter.

"There was a delivery just a little while ago. I suppose word must have gotten to the tailor about how you weren't happy with your dresses--"

"They're not that bad," she said, a bit too quickly.

"-- and he managed to pull something together at the last minute. I think it'll be a bit more to your tastes."

She stepped to the side and revealed the dress that was laid out on her bed. Beatrice moved forward to get a better look, and she liked what she saw. Though the dress was still, in her opinion, a mess of tulle and taffeta, it was a much darker color than the others, a rather fetching royal blue, and had a high neckline crusted with glimmering gems. It was definitely an improvement.

"It's beautiful! I love it!" She threw her arms around her mother's middle, pressed her face against her stomach. "You're the best mom ever!"

She stroked her daughter's thick black hair and smiled. "Just promise me you'll be on your best behavior tomorrow," she said. "Your father is already close to a coronary over the whole thing. 

"I'll be as perfect as perfect can be," she said. "... Though, you might want to tell Daddy that too, just to be sure."

"Oh, don't you worry. He's going to be getting a very special warning tonight."

Her mother left, and Beatrice burrowed her way under the thick covers of her bed. The dim lights reflected prettily off the gems on her dress, and she smiled. Tomorrow was looking better by the minute.

-

Phasma walked down the hall to her room, and she worried more with every step.

There was something... She'd never been known to be Force sensitive; in all honesty, until she'd met Kylo, she'd been quite certain the whole thing was a complex, long-running hoax on the galaxy. But, as a soldier, she'd grown to rely on what many called "gut instinct" to lead her through life. It was gut instinct that told her, against everything, that her child was in some sort of mortal danger and needed to be protected.

Part of her wrote it off as just the normal worries of a mother, but another part, the part that had survived countless battles by the skin of her teeth and the right thought at the right time, had called perhaps more Stormtroopers than necessary off of their usual postings to act as security during the ball.

To be completely honest, if it had been the twins, she, most likely, would have just ignored the feeling. But, since it was about Beatrice, she felt it more urgent, more severe. And, perhaps, that spoke poorly of her.

Phasma loved all of her children equally, but even she had to admit that Beatrice had always been a... special child. From her difficult, nearly deadly birth (even compared to twins, it was enough to make her cut off all heir production immediately) to her extraordinary talents with the Force, everything about her signaled her Skywalker blood-- but, she hoped against hope, not her Skywalker fate.

(In her dreams, Eupheme sits on the throne, Godwin her most trusted general, and Beatrice trains Force sensitive younglings to serve their empire. In her nightmares, they swing before cheering crowds.)

Kylo... He was fond of the twins, and they were fond of him, but it was nothing like the near suffocating love he had for his daughter. He had wept in her arms the day the toddler had mentally torn a room apart during a violent fit. He often spent more time on her than he did on his lovers, which she took as a positive sign instead of a slight.

(Every time the girl laughed, he seemed to blame himself less.)

Hux. He was born to rule, to lead, but was rather hopeless at most everything else. His rare affectionate moments were reserved for the bearers of his legacy, and though he spoke of her as his daughter and ensured she was treated with all the respect and honor a princess deserved, he was rarely more than polite to her on a personal level.

(She had long ago decided that there was something in Bren's animal brain that resisted the dark-haired chick in his nest. It wasn't fair, but life so rarely was.)

Kylo was in their bedroom by the time she got there, already down to his underclothes, lounging on the bed and eating some kind of sandwich. "Bren is going to kill you if you leave crumbs again," she said.

He shrugged. "He's too busy driving himself insane with this stupid party," he said, moving aside a bit so she could curl up next to him. "I'm not even sure he'll come to bed tonight; he might just pass out in his office... Want a bite?"

"No. I think I'm too nervous to eat."

"There's no reason to be nervous! This is the biggest event in the Empire's social calendar; literally everyone will be there. Attacking would be utter suicide, especially with the extra 'troopers you've called in."

"Still. Our spies haven't seen hide or tail of the Resistance in months."

"And that's a good thing. Maybe the old crone finally died, and the whole thing fell apart."

"No, I don't think it's that... They're small, but tenacious. Even the pride of my armies couldn't track them down."

"You exterminated most of them. You just couldn't track down the Grey Lady."

"No. We couldn't." She frowned. "They did attack us once before, remember. And it was under quite similar circumstances."

"And it was an utter disaster. I think Bren killed five people all on his own, just out of anger at having the day ruined."

She smiled fondly, remembering. Beatrice's first birthday had been one befitting the nature of her youngest child. "Imagine if they try anything tomorrow," she said. "He'd personally track down General Organa."

Kylo quieted after the mention of his mother, as he usually did. She grabbed a pillow and cuddled into it, not realizing how tired she was until she felt her eyes closing of their own accord.

"Beatrice is a good kid, right?"

She sighed. Of course. "Yes, Kylo," she said. "She's a very good kid."

"She looks just like me. Except for the face."

"Mhhm."

"She's beautiful. Like you."

"I'm too tired tonight, love."

"... Jo, I'm not saying this because I want to fuck you or something."

"I know. You're saying it because you're a big sap who's panicking over his children growing up."

She felt a warmth press against her, and Kylo's head joined hers on the pillow. "I think I am," he said in a whisper. "Is it wrong?"

"No, I don't think so," she whispered back. "Just what fathers do, probably."

That kept him quiet enough for her to finally drift off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Staying out of Father's way was almost always a very good idea. When he was getting ready for something big, it was necessary to stay alive. (And that's not entirely a joke.)

Beatrice was sure that no one in the entire universe cared about how they, the royal family, looked to the public as he did. He was the one who forced them all to continue publicly claiming that she was his child, even though literally everyone knew who her real father was. He wanted everything to be neat, orderly, and beautiful; if genetics didn't feel like playing nice, he forced it to mold to his whims.

The ball was sure to be stunning, though, and she was determined to try her best to stand out. Her hair, which rarely saw more than a comb on most days, was done up in a headpiece that let down a cascade of gentle curls. Her dress was already on, though the ball didn't officially start for hours, and her makeup was a testament to Eupheme's peerless ability to get her sister to sit still for longer than five minutes.

So, when she very nearly ran into Father in the hall, she didn't panic. After all, she'd done everything he'd wanted of her, and more; there was nothing about her that he could get upset about.

"My, don't you look beautiful." There were heavy bags under his eyes, lines that would be covered up expertly by his team of makeup artists later on, but he smiled, truly smiled, at her, which meant things were going wonderfully enough that he could allow such an indulgence. He kneeled down-- she was still short enough for him to do such a thing-- and moved her gently by her shoulders, inspecting her carefully. "Eupheme's work, clearly... I hope she didn't slack off on practicing her entrance for this."

"No, Father. She set this hours ago just so she wouldn't miss it."

"Good." He stood and dusted off his trousers-- he was still casually dressed, not in the ornate uniform he would later wear. "There's still so much work to be done-- oh, and I have a job for you. Are you up to the challenge?"

She preened. "Of course, Father!"

"Wonderful. Your grandmother's shuttle arrived a little while ago; she should be here any moment. Go greet her and make sure she's comfortable."

"Of couse, Father." If he heard the distinct loss of enthusiasm in her voice, he didn't mention it. He was gone as quickly as he'd come, and she was left with the unenviable task ahead of her.

It wasn't like Beatrice didn't love her Grandmama, of course. She loved her to pieces, loved how strong and fierce she was, how she didn't let anyone ever get the best of her-- and how she loved her just as much as she did the twins, even though she knew there wasn't a drop of Hux blood to be found.

She just hated how she'd been planning who to marry the three of them off to since literally before they'd been born.

She knew her parents had an arranged marriage, that _their_ parents had decided everything for them while they'd been busy fighting a war. Of course, they ended up loving each other anyway, and she thought that was wonderfully romantic, but she also knew lots of arraigned marriages didn't end so luckily. By her luck, she'd get someone awful.

The twins had resigned themselves to it early on-- but they didn't care what happened, since they already had each other. Beatrice didn't have anyone, though! Whoever she would marry would be the only person she'd ever get, and she didn't like the odds.

Ever since she was very young, she'd desperately wanted to marry for love. It was hard to actually find someone to love when you're a princess, though; it wasn't like she could go out among the common folk, or even among the nobility. Nearly everyone she'd ever known in her life was a family member or someone who lived and worked in the palace, which didn't leave you with a very wide dating pool.

The ball, though... That would be her chance. Noble boys from all over the galaxy would be there, and while most of them would be actively courting her sister, there'd be lots of second and third sons just lying around, waiting to be fallen for.

The venerable Lady Daemora Hux, Queen Mother of the empire, was already in the main hall by the time Beatrice got there, and had taken it upon herself to instruct the servants on how best to put up the final decorations. The servants, for their part, respectfully and dutifully ignored every word she said. They were under the emperor's strict demands, but also knew that insulting his mother was a crime often worthy of death.

"Grandmama," she said, raising her voice over the din. "Father told me to come meet you."

"Beatrice? Oh, that can't be you! My Beatrice is a sweet little girl, not a beautiful young lady!" Her grandmother looked resplendent, but she knew they were only her traveling clothes, and whatever she would wear to the ball would be twice as gorgeous. "My son might hire idiots as his servants, but at least his tailors are skilled."

"Euphie did my makeup," she said.

"Oh, I could tell! You'd think the girl had grown up on Naboo, the way she can copy their queens." She smiled and took Beatrice's offered arm. "You look much lovelier than any of those girls ever did, of course! They were all nice enough, of course, but the stress of ruling ages you terribly. That's why your father and mother look so rough, but Lord Ren has barely changed in years."

"Daddy has lots of stress in his life!"

"I'm sure he does, the poor dear. He must just have excellent genes, then. After all, he is responsible for half of you."

"He says the beautiful half comes from Mom."

"Mm, he would. I wish my husband, rest his soul, had been half as charming on purpose as that man is on accident."

One of the many guest rooms in the palace had been made up for her arrival, and Grandmama spent a full five minutes inspecting it. Beatrice waited patiently by the door, waiting for her to decide if it was up to her standards or not. She eventually nodded slightly in acceptance, and Beatrice let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

"Thank you for the escort, sweetling." She walked over and gently pressed a kiss to her hairline, careful not to muss the makeup. "Now, I'm sure you have much more important things to do than play nanny to an old woman."

"I was hoping to visit Daddy before things got too crazy..."

"Well, then that's what you have to do! Hurry along, dear; I'll be more than fine on my own."

She wasn't truly on her own; the second Beatrice stepped out of the room, a gaggle of servants swarmed in, ready to help their mistress prepare for the ball. She shrugged and slowly made her way towards her dad's quarters, which were rarely used outside of dressing for important occasions.

She didn't knock, of course; princesses don't knock. But, luckily for everyone involved in what could have been an incredibly traumatizing and awful incident, she only managed to open the heavy door a crack when she heard something that made her stop in her tracks.

"Hnn... Kylo, _yes_ \--"

She slowly and quietly shut the door, rolling her eyes. Well, hopefully that meant Father would get a few hours of rest before nightfall. She could only hope.

At the corners of her consciousness, she could feel the whole thing coming together: the guests arriving in their ships; the servants finishing up their decorating; the maids cleaning out the last of the guest rooms; the cooks preparing the feast. Voices and thoughts filled her head as she skipped away to wait out the remaining hours in her chambers.

She couldn't wait.


	3. Chapter 3

After a seemingly endless parade of pomp and circumstance, with matching laurel wreaths of spun gold atop their heads, their gloved hands entwined, the Princess Eupheme and Prince Godwin were introduced into the polite society of the Empire.

And Beatrice felt like she wanted to die.

It was _boring_ , standing at her dad's side on the royal dais, her mind zoning in and out of the proceedings as the band played the empire's incredibly long national anthem, as her father made a painfully long, painfully apoplectic speech about the continuing glory of his empire as represented by his heirs, as her siblings danced with her parents, Godwin with Mother and Eupheme with Father, and then each other.

But, soon the band started to play more lively tunes, and the respectfully quiet audience broke up from a massive solid crowd into smaller bands vying for the spaces nearest the royals. Beatrice was finally able to break away from her dad's presence and do what she really wanted to do: scope out all the cuties, all the princelings and noblemen's second sons, the best the Empire had to offer her...

Her gaze fell upon a boy that didn't seem quite like the others. He was older than her, but younger than her siblings; there was just the beginning of facial hair on his smooth, dark face. He had gorgeous curls of jet-black hair, and eyes that seemed large enough to take in the whole room-- but, he was looking right at her, like the rest of the world hardly mattered.

There were other handsome boys, plenty of them, a whole room full of handsome boys all dying for her attention. It's just that none of them looked so utterly strange and alien in their fancy clothes.

And he did look strange, that boy. He didn't seem to fit right, unlike all the perfectly tailored young men around him. He seemed off, and a bit nervous, and that just endeared her even more to him, since she'd been feeling off and nervous ever since she was born. She decided that of all the boys there that night, he was the one she'd grace with her presence.

"Good evening," she said, approaching him with a slight curtsy, the way her tutors had taught her. He didn't bow back, as he was supposed to; he just grinned, but it was a very charming grin, so she didn't mind very much.

"Nice party you got here, Your Majesty," he said.

She giggled behind her gloved hands. He was wrong, so wrong! Who had taught this boy his manners? "What's your name?" she asked.

"My name isn't important." He wasn't meeting her gaze, for some strange reason. Just glancing around, like he was looking for someone.

"Tell it to me anyway." Though she knew she shouldn't, she added just a little bit of the Force to her words, more than she would when asking the cooks for sweets and less than when she borrowed things from her sister.

There was a long pause, longer than it should have been; the Force should've compelled him to speak immediately, like people did when Daddy spoke. But, she supposed, she was young and not fully trained. She couldn't expect miracles.

"Han Dameron," he said, finally.

"Han Dameron." It felt like poetry on her tongue, the way it smoothly glided from one letter to the next. Not harsh and sharp, like Beatrice Hux. Han Dameron. Like music.

She was, she thought, just a little bit in love with him.

Maybe that was what caught her dad's attention, made him stop pretending to listen to an Outer Rim diplomat and brought him to a pillar a full ten feet away from where she and Han were standing. He was glaring so hard at the back of Han's head that he almost made her feel nervous.

Han laughed, in a very cool way. "So, that's your dad, right?" he asked, gesturing slightly towards her dad.

She laughed, too, but it was as tittering and fake as her words. "No, silly! The emperor is my father. That's my master, Lord Kylo Ren," she said, the lie coming to her as easy as breathing.

"If he's not your dad, then why does he look like he's trying to kill me with his mind?"

"Oh, he always looks like that... Though, he may actually be trying that. Maybe we shouldn't stand so close together."

He stepped forward, close enough for their arms to briefly bump together. "It's worth the risk," he said with a roguish grin.

Her heart fluttered in her chest like a caged bird, breath coming faster as she watched him gently take her hand in his, small and pale against long, dark fingers. She was so caught up in the excitement of her fairytale romance that she felt the explosion before she actually heard it.

The outer wall of the ballroom crumbled easily from the force of the blasts, sending guests scattering as chunks of masonry came falling down. A large but motley crew in dark clothing clambered over the wreckage, throwing civilians to the ground and using them as cover as they exchanged fire with the elite 'troopers, the first forces to respond to the threat.

"Rebels!" She heard her mother's voice, clear and loud, over the fray. She was probably already pulling her blaster out of her leg holster; perhaps she'd already managed to shoot down one or two of the first wave. "Don't let any of them survive!"

She heard the telltale sound of a lightsaber being activated-- but, she could swear she'd heard it more than once. More than one Force user was present in the fray.

Beatrice saw nothing and had little time to process what little she heard. By the time the commotion truly began, she had already fallen unconscious, her mind reeling after the soft pressure of Han's grip had been punctured by the sharp prick of a hidden syringe.

"Don't be too upset, Your Majesty," she heard his sweet voice saying as she drifted into oblivion, "it's nothing personal. Just business."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo random update out of nowhere


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today was a star wars-y day and then this happened. also lol @ the robe. i'm dead sure i put hux in a robe in the first fic. kyluxma is so canon in phasma's book...

She awoke with the greatest headache she'd ever had in her young life.

It was a throbbing, stabbing headache, a sort of strange pressure against her skull that only increased when she opened her eyes to be blinded by overhead lights. At first, she thought she was in an interrogation room, like her mother had-- strapped to a table, bright lights in her face--- but the soft fabric underneath her and the ability to move her arms helped her figure out she wasn't. And after blinking a few times, she figured out the light wasn't as blinding as it'd been at first, either. Not that it helped her headache any.

She sat up as slowly and carefully as she could, trying to take inventory of her body. Besides the headache, there didn't seem to be anything wrong... Not even so much as a cut or bruise. There had been an explosion, hadn't there? The Resistance had attacked the party. Blown up a whole wall! Stars, was Father going to be angry--

She inhaled sharply, but it didn't stop the sob from bubbling up. Her parents... Her siblings... Were they okay? There had been a battle starting, when she'd lost consciousness. But, if they had died, she would have felt it in the Force... Not that she could feel much in the Force right now to begin with, what with the damned headache and all.

There was a sound like a door opening, and her head shot up-- too quickly, and she nearly fell back into the bed. But, she still was able to look.

It was Han.

He was dressed differently, in the sort of shabby clothes that Resistance fighters always wore in the old holos, and seemed vastly more comfortable in them that he had been in his fancy clothes. He had a tray in his hands, and was smiling at her. There was caution in his eyes, though. Fear, maybe.

Good, she thought. He should be scared. And not just of me.

"You sure slept for a long time, Princess," he said. He placed the tray on the table next to her bed. There was a cup and a bowl of something, and some sort of medicine she didn't recognize. There were bandages, too, and she started to wonder if he didn't know she wasn't injured.

It was then that she realized she was still in her dress. It was in tatters, caked in dust and gunk, but she was still wearing it. Had they just shoved her in here to sleep off whatever they had injected her with?

Wow. They really were afraid, weren't they.

She gave him a sullen glare and pointedly didn't respond. He just sighed and shook his head. "I know. You're mad. I really did mean it when I said it wasn't personal. And I tried really hard to make sure you didn't get actually hurt. Beatrice--"

Her hand made a meaty sound when it collided with his jaw.

"... Ow!"

Damn it! All the years her mother spent training her in unarmed combat, and the first time she actually gets a chance to use it, she doesn't think and accidentally throws a bad punch! What was she thinking? Her mother would die of shame!

(Beatrice was too caught up in the pain and embarrassment to notice anything Han did after the punch. She didn't see him turn to a seemingly solid wall, shake his head violently at it, and give a weak thumbs up and a grin.)

"Hey, hey, Princess..." Callused hands took her injured hand and held it. She looked up into his eyes and stubbornly clung to her fury in the face of such kind concern. "Look, I'm sorry. Was that too forward? I've never met a princess like you before, you know. I don't know exactly how to act."

"... We're not friends," she said stiffly. "We're not anything like friends. I won't have you calling me by my real name. You don't deserve it."

"Okay, Princess... Well, I can't exactly go around calling you that for too long, can I? Even if we're not friends, it's way too formal. And it might get confusing. I'll have to call you something else."

He was still holding her hand, fingers rubbing circles on her bruised knuckles. She could feel her face warm as she examined her. "Let's see... Well, you're awfully pretty, you know that? How about I just call you Pretty?"

The thin line her mouth had formed started to quirk at the ends. "That's not a very good nickname."

"What? I'll have you know I've nicknamed just about every other person in my squadron, and they all love my nicknames."

"They're being nice. It's awful."

"Wow, tough crowd... I just need more time to think, is all... You know, has anyone ever told you that you look a little like a bird?"

"A bird!"

"Yeah! All pale, and that hair... You're like a pylat."

"It's because of my nose and you know it."

"They don't really teach you how to take compliments in princess school, do they?"

"Not really."

"But, I'm sure you know what all the spoons on the table are for."

"Oh, but that's very important. Especially when one of the spoons has a hidden compartment for poison."

"Yikes. Wouldn't want to eat over at your place." The thought of her being from a "place" seemed to throw him off his game. "Uh... If you're interested in knowing, as far as we know, everyone in your family made it. I think it was just some 'troopers who died."

"And some of your people, probably."

His face was still kind, but a hint of steel flashed in his eyes. "Yeah," he said. "Probably."

"More than probably. You really got my parents angry, and that's only the start of it..." She reached behind her neck, to pinch the nerves her father had taught her could help with headaches...

She touched warm metal.

"Wha..." Her other hand flew to her throat, grasping it desperately, as if she could will it out of existence. But, she couldn't, and had to face the cold reality: there was a metal collar around her neck. Like an animal. Like a slave. "What is this? I demand you tell me!"

"Relax, Little Bird." He went over to the tray and picked up the medicine and the cup, handing it out to her. "Here. She said this would work on the headache."

"You collared me!"

"I mean, I didn't, but you're probably speaking in general, right?"

"Tell me what it's for right now!"

"Relax, relax... It's just a little insurance policy, okay? I know we're having a great ol' time here together, but some of my friends... They're a little worried about having _the_ Kylo Ren's daughter on the ship, you know?"

She was too sickened to lie. "This thing... This is a force suppression collar. You animals put me in a force suppression collar!"

She recognized the pain, now. It wasn't her brain aching after dealing with whatever drug had knocked her out. It was her brain screaming out because it was being deprived of the one thing it had had access to her entire life: the Force. Her head suddenly felt hollow, as if a section of her brain had been sliced off completely, like it had been cored like an apple.

"It's not permanent! Trust me, it's definitely not permanent! Definitely, definitely not permanent! If it was up to me, you'd have it off right now! It's just so you can calm down long enough to listen to what she has to say, okay?

She took a shaky breath and met his eyes. "Is 'she' the one who gave you the medicine?"

"What? Oh, no, not her. You'll meet her later. This is a different person. Someone very, very important. Someone you'll definitely want to meet."

She sniffed imperially. "I highly doubt there's anybody in the Resistance that I'd want to meet."

"Present company excluded, right?" He grinned. "No, trust me. You'll want to meet her. She's waiting outside; if you'd like to meet her, I can go out and bring her in."

After staring him down in complete silence for a solid minute, he shrugged. "I'll take that for a yes!" He stood and crossed to the door, opening it without giving any input whatsoever. To her surprise, he left entirely-- she almost cried out after him, screamed at him to not to leave her, and then felt completely stupid. And yet, when the next person walked in, she felt like screaming all over again.

Instead, she took a breath and steeled her expression, trying to look as much like her mother as possible. "Now I see why calling me 'Princess' would get confusing," she said lightly.

The woman was old, very old, with gray hair piled up on her head and heavy wrinkles at the laugh lines of her mouth and temples. She was dressed like any other member of the Resistance might, but it looked different on her, more regal than the ruins of Beatrice's dress had looked in its prime.

Leia Organa nodded solemnly, a ghostly smile on her face. The door closed behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

Kylo was missing.

Well, to the rest of the household, Kylo was missing. Phasma knew exactly where he was, had always known, but had been far too busy giving orders to her soldiers and helping Hux pour over every piece of intelligence they had about the Resistance’s current hideouts and everything else involved in the messy aftermath of a royal kidnapping, to bother herself with... all that.

But, about the fifth time some poor maid expressed concern that Lord Ren hadn't been seen in two days, she realized that having her lover starve himself to death in grief would be a terrible distraction, and perhaps it was time to deal with it. After giving orders for a fresh round of torture on the single surviving Resistance prisoner they had left (not because they believed she had any information, but because it was a nice bonding activity for the soldiers), she gave Hux a single tap on the shoulder and left the room. They had been married long enough that was all that was needed, and she heard the sharp click of his boots against marble floors as he followed behind her.

No one had entered Beatrice's room since her kidnapping.

Well. One person.

It was worse than she had thought it would be. The lightsaber thrown carelessly on the floor wasn't even his; it was hers, Beatrice's, a simple design with a purple kyber crystal. The bed was the only piece of furniture that hadn't been utterly destroyed, and even that was bisected by a jagged, ashy burn. There were even marks on the walls, but the burns concerned her less than the smaller tears, the animalistic scratches and smeared blood.

Kylo was at the foot of the bed, bent before it like a supplicant. Hux gingerly stepped through the wreckage and nudged at him with his foot. "He's actually asleep," he said with mild surprise. "How long do you think he's been at this? Just sleeping and wrecking, like we're back on the Finalizer?"

"The dresser is still smoking. He hasn't been out for a while." She bent down next to him, running a hand over his wild dark hair, the hair he had given the child he now tore himself apart over. "I was foolish. I hadn't suspected the attack would be focused on her."

"If it had been about the twins, they would have just-- killed them immediately, of course." Only the slightest, briefest of hitches in his tone told her what an agonizing thought that was to him. "No, they wanted her. For reasons I hope are obvious to everyone."

"Do you think he realizes it?"

"He's beyond thought, at this point. And even if he did, I suspect he wouldn't find much comfort in it, even if we do," he said. "He more animal than man, when it comes to her. Breaks down into his most primitive state the second she's in any amount of peril."

"He feels more strongly than we do."

He shook his head. "You're excusing him, as always. If we all acted like he did every time there was trouble, we wouldn't have had an empire in the first place."

"I don't make excuses for him--"

There was a wracking sob from the man below them, and the conversation immediately ceased. Phasma immediately gathered Kylo into her arms, letting his shaking hands clutch the fabric of her shirt with no consideration for the mess he was causing.

There was a sudden beeping noise. Hux slipped a datapad out of his pocket and began tapping at it. Kylo, still breathing heavily, managed to pull himself away from Phasma and looked up at Hux as if he had absolutely no idea what was going on. Which, she decided, was fair enough, as she had no idea what was happening either.

"Ah, good, she is alive," Hux said after a short while. "And awake, finally."

He frowned at their bewildered expressions. "It turns on if they are deceased or, if alive, if they are conscious. A bit inconvenient, but I was told the power required for it to be on constantly would make it far too cumbersome." 

"Bren," Phasma said delicately, "what the fuck are you talking about?"

"The tracking devices I had implanted in the torsos of all of our children shortly after their births." He paused. "Hadn't I told you about them?"

She stood immediately. "You put devices inside of our children."

"Why their torsos?" Kylo said, voice rougher than normal, absently placing a hand over his own stomach.

Hux rolled his eyes. "Oh, you of all people know how the connectivity of limbs can't always be counted on," he said. "And now I remember why I never told you two-- you simply wouldn't understand how necessary such devices are. I always knew this day would come, and aren't you glad how well-prepared for it we are? We'll have her home before supper."

"Just what else did you put inside my children's bodies?" Her voice, the entire time, had remained as even and cold as the icy plains of Hoth. It sounded much more dangerous than shouting would have.

"I tested it extensively on prisoners of war before even dreaming about implanting it in anyone important."

"That doesn't answer my question at all--"

"Enough!"

Kylo stood between them, his hands raised. "We can argue over the ethics of body modifications on infants after. Though," he turned his head to face Hux, "if this wasn't our best hope for finding Beatrice before anything happens to her, you would be sleeping in your office for the next decade."

He smiled thinly. "Always nice to be appreciated by your family."

"Time is of the essence," Phasma said. "We have the coordinates now, but if it loses power and they're smart enough to keep moving, she'll be lost."

"I'll go," he said. "Alone. I'll take our fastest ship. Once I've located her, I'll signal you for reinforcements. We'll take out the last of the Resistance during our rescue. Two birds, one stone."

"I don't believe you for a damned minute, Kylo," she said. "You know as well as I do that you're going to barge right in there and tear the place apart."

He opened his mouth as if to argue, but, standing in the smoldering remains of his daughter's room, realized he really didn't have much of a leg to stand on.

"It hardly matters one way or the other, does it? Honestly, the more Resistance scum you take out on your way to her, the better off we all are." Kylo and Phasma looked over his shoulder at the datapad, seeing it contained star maps. "I've already taken the liberty of transferring her coordinates to your ship. You can go right on ahead with your fun while we plan the main thrust of our attack. You might even work as a distraction for our movements, at least for a time."

"Always glad to be of use, Bren."

Phasma grimaced. "Would Beatrice want you taking on a suicide mission?" she said. "I certainly don't."

"It's only suicide if I die." He took her face in his hands, the torn flesh of his fingers leaving smears of blood on her cheeks. "And I'll do whatever it takes to save our child. Live or die."

"Live, damn you. Live for your family."

He kissed her sweetly, and pulled Hux in for a kiss as well, though he grumbled and complained about the bloodstains left on his clean shirt. Phasma embraced him once more before he left to prepare for his mission, holding on for as long as he would allow her before impatience set in, trying to smother the gnawing feeling of dread in her gut and focus on what was most important: saving her child.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after TLJ i've wanted to write fic but there isn't a kink meme going on so i have no ideas except for this so i'm writing this until more ideas come along
> 
> TLJ doesn't change too much about this fic except obviously rose has to exist now because she's beautiful and perfect.

It was anger in her heart, she told herself as the door shut, leaving her alone with the second most popular Boogeyman for Imperial children. The quaking of her limbs was fury. Not fear. She wasn't afraid. Sith were never afraid. They weren't afraid of anything, and especially not little old ladies.

But, stars. She wasn't just a little old lady, was she? Leia Organa had been rebelling against authority since before even her dad was born; her whole life had been dedicated to destroying order and decency throughout the galaxy. Her being just a bit shorter than Beatrice herself was didn't change any of that.

She couldn't figure out what the old woman's expression was supposed to mean. "He's telling you the truth, just so you know," she said, stepping further into the room; Beatrice backed away until her legs met the bed, forcing her to sit with a thump. Leia kneeled next to her, and took what Beatrice had mistaken for a pile of bandages-- it seemed to be some sort of cloth-- and dipped it into the bowl. As the wet cloth came towards her face, Beatrice turned her head away sharply. "Please, let me. I would have done this days ago, if those damn..."

She grimaced and allowed the contact, cool wetness wiping away the dirtied remains of her sister's handiwork. "How long was I out?" she asked from between grit teeth.

"Longer than we expected. The dose was too strong, even for you; we were worried sick--"

"Well, your hostage didn't die. Take some comfort in that."

Leia paused, taking in the cleaned face. "... Your eyes," she said. "The nose is definitely him, but so are the eyes."

"What are you talking about, old woman?"

"And the attitude. Can't forget about that." She sighed deeply, taking Beatrice's limp arm into her own so she could scrub it as well, the bowl of water becoming cloudy with grime and paint. "Your father-- your real one, I mean. Has he ever told you about his own family? His own mother and father?"

"Daddy doesn't have a family."

"I expected as much." She shook her head. "But, did he ever tell you anything about them?"

"No, I mean he's never had one. At all."

"... What?"

"Daddy was born from the rip in the Force that happened when Lord Vader died," she said, will full confidence and utter seriousness.

Leia muttered to herself, just inside of Beatrice's hearing range, "Han, I'm not sure why, but this is definitely your fault." Out loud, she said, "And you believe that?"

"Of course. Why would Daddy ever lie to me?"

"Parents lie to their kids all the time. Just... not usually like that." She paused. "Your, uh... Your daddy. He did have a family. A very long time ago."

She frowned. "I don't understand what this has to do with anything. Even if Daddy had a family, they're probably all dead by now."

"If I told you that they weren't all dead, and that they wanted nothing more in this life than to see you--"

"I'd tell them to leave me alone. I don't want to see them."

She sighed again, deeper and even more disappointed-sounding. "Enough games. I'm already too old for this." She gripped Beatrice's hand tightly. "Kid, I'm your grandmother. The man you and the galaxy know as Kylo Ren was... Well, he was my son, once upon a time."

She cocked her head to the side. "Then, he isn't. Not anymore."

"No. He's not. Not really."

"Then you aren't my grandmother."

She thought she was being quite logical about the whole situation, and couldn't understand the pain on the old woman's face. "No, I'm not, am I? Not really," she said softly. "But, you're the closest thing I'll ever have to a blood grandchild. And I just had to see you before I died."

How morbid. The woman was ancient, of course, but the way she said it made it sound like her death was coming any day now. "Is that why you people abducted me?" she asked. "Because of stupid family junk?"

"Mainly. There's other reasons, of course, but it seems like pretty much everything of importance that's ever happened in this galaxy's history happened because of 'stupid family junk.'"

She kicked her legs, staring at her torn stockings. She wondered if she would have to wear some ugly Resistance outfit, or just live in her ruined finery until her family came to save her. "What are the other reasons?"

"Later. I'll tell you later." She gave her a wan smile. "For now, I should let you get yourself cleaned up. There's a refresher attached to this suite--"

"Since when did cells have refreshers?"

The look Leia gave her, the hurt in her eyes, almost made her feel bad for the pointed cruelty in her tone. She didn't know why, and it frustrated her. Angered her. Made her want to make her words hurt even worse.

"You're not in a cell."

"Of course I'm in a cell. I'm a captive. A hostage."

"You're not a hostage." She winced, as if she realized how false her own words sounded. "You're my granddaughter, and I want to make sure you feel comfortable."

"I don't care. I'll never be comfortable here. I want to go home. I want my daddy."

"Your 'daddy' is on his way."

When had the door opened? It hadn't, surely; she would have heard it if it had, even if she had been distracted by the conversation with Leia. And yet, it had to have opened, at some point. How else would she have entered the room?

She was an older woman, though much younger than the general-- perhaps about her parents' age, or maybe even younger, though the streaks of grey in her hair and the worn-in cracks of her face made it difficult to figure out. She wore loose robes the color of dishwater, and there was a lightsaber slung from her belt. In truth, that was all she needed to recognize her; the lightsaber along made who she was painfully obvious.

And then there were her eyes.

One was normal, brown and bright and fixed on Beatrice's own. The other... It was entirely white, still as milk in a socket lined with thick scarring. She had heard stories, about that eye. About how it had happened. How there were a million stories, and they all started the same way: with one of her parents locked in a personal battle with the Grey Lady. Father and a vibroblade. Mother and a blaster rifle. Daddy and his lightsaber. At the end of every path, there was a member of her family causing a very powerful, very dangerous person an incredible amount of pain and suffering. Sith were never afraid.

Leia sighed. "I asked for five minutes, Rey," she said. "I don't get five minutes?"

"You got six minutes." Beatrice watched in complete shock as the Grey Lady, terror of the empire and enemy of order and decency, grinned in a scrunched up sort of way. She bowed slightly but respectfully. "I didn't mean to interrupt so early, General, but Poe really does need you for something. He wouldn't tell me what it was, exactly, but he's going mad over it."

"Ah, fine. If it's Poe." Leia reached out to Beatrice, who shied away from the hand violently, leaving her hanging in the space between them. "I'll be back once you've settled in."

She left, and for one horrible moment, Beatrice was sure she was going to be left in the room alone with... But, she merely gave her a brief look-over and shook her head. "You really do look just like him. Finn's definitely lost that bet." A slight smile. "Han would get upset if I spent too long in here, bothering you-- keeping you from him, really. Once you're ready, he'll come by to get you. I believe he's decided to 'show you around the place.'"

She didn't respond, and sat silently for a few moments after the door closed. That... was not what she had expected. From any of them. From any of this. As she walked to the refresher, she wondered what was to happen next-- and how long it would take before her family came to rescue her.


End file.
